lady gaga will eat miley cyrus's first born child

Last night was a brilliantly accepted reminder of why I am at art school. Thank you, frat parties at Johns Hopkins, for being so terrible. Just because you're smart doesn't also mean that you hold interesting people, who listen to good music, and dance well. On the contrary, you hold bros and awkward girls who sip on dumb forms of liquid encouragement, that all throw their hands in the air and sing along to the Miley Cyrus mixed with some unfortunate rap song. You also only where sweat pants and running shoes, or mommy jeans and maternity blouses.

MICA, on the other hand, holds delicious Thanksgiving potlucks filled with four forms of potatoes, cranberry sauce, and a tofurkey by yours truly, long naps, Trash Art Shos, and Lady GaGa.

Are the two even comparable? I think not.

when i have the research, i'll be fine

It's the beginning of finals here at MICA, and everywhere, everyone is in stunted states of stress. It's impossible. Because it is the weekend, all anyone wants to do (and inevitably is) is to party. But me, I am trying my hardest to commit. I say this because this past week could have been my worst work week, ever, in MICA history. I feel like since fall break I haven't accomplished any form of art, and in this, I really, truly feel terrible. It's a spiral of bad thoughts, mediocre feelings, and the idea of waste. And I don't agree with waste. I'm need to establish myself as a professional artist in this cut-throat society of MICA-ians, but, even in this thought, I can't help but slack off, find solace in my friends, and nap.

These are all terrible, terrible things. I am a better student than this. I AM A BETTER ARTIST THAN THIS. So, I will be better. Actually, the Best.

The End.

In other news, the photos are from this evening, which included a calming trip to Whole Foods for some Thanksgiving goodness (because of the Pot Luck tomorrow!), a lovely walk through the campus to Jerome's, and dinner making, with the menus as: wheat pasta decadent with raw red onion, peas, tuna and caesar dressing, baguette bread topped with brie and honey, with a glass of Sparkling Grape Juice being the tie between it all. Delicious.

to remember

elements project:

tie in the beginning polaroid piece to the pop-up to the play with kitch. make it work as a whole. find and buy enough of the existing scrapbook paper to tie in the look. possibly recreate the 'target' processed frames and fill with photographs playing into the major theme of inner monsters. maybe, even, make an inner monster?

1:23

I just walked in the door from a Peaches concert, and compulsively have the need to write everything down in a stream of conscious manner, due to the fact that I may, or may not, still be inebriated. Here it is:

starting off i was sick, real sick, have been sick since friday, so it wasn't difficult to fake sick in front of my painting teacher. i hacked and snuffed and sounded all types of congested when she came round to talk to me about my piece. this allowed me leave, allowed me dinner, pre-gaming, and then the big show. first we had to go to bunting for cash. then we took the most expensive cab ride of our lives (40 bucks for six people for a ten minute ride). en route cindy pucked. she kept on vomiting. thankfully it was all into her kate spade purse, but when i got out of the cab half of my butt was still wet (puke or broken flask?). then the concert. we sludged our way to the front, dancing to the music until 930 when ponytail came to the stage. they were ridiculous. they were totally incoherent. it would have been terrible if i wasn't drunk. but i was. so, with them trashed and be not sober, we had a pretty good time. whenever the female singer screamed into the mic and rolled her eyes into the back of her head (which was alot) i howled. it was fantastic.

then, some music until man (le tigre's project) came to the stage. it was three of them and they were fantastic. amazing. outstanding. i couldn't believe how good they were. i danced and danced and cheered and danced, they were so good.

then peaches. i was so excited for peaches. all i wanted was peaches. but, when she and her band came to the stage there was a rush, and in that moment i instantly sobered up. there were so many people. i couldn't move. i couldn't breathe. i was in fear for everyone around me and was unable to enjoy peaches flashing vagina. i started to do head counts, make sure i could at least see everyone while i mainted a semi dance, semi protection over the few in front of me. at one point this gangly kid beside me was gringing my fired while flailing his arms, coming close to smacking dear jorden in the face. i tried my best to push him away in a dance like stance, but then he bit me. he full fledged clamped into my bicep and bit down hard. it was ridiculous. i couldn't believe it. at that point iram was gone and when the song ended i had to go find her.

but, jorden and i couldn't find her. so we smoked. we talked about how ridiculous the concert was. then we went back in and enjoyed ourselves.

first we stayed back, making sure just to dance, but then we needed to see if everyone was in decent shape, so we pushed forward. i ended up attempting to protect jorden the entire time, all the while dancing, from the sweaty mohawked man in front of us. he was so wet, that now i still feel like i stepped from a shower. also, i talked, briefly, to the tarc alex about my new piercing.

peaches ended with fuck the pain away. she encored with that song she does with iggy pop, and a few more that i couldn't decifer, but were still perfect.

i have peach's fake blood on me. or someone else's, i can't be sure.

in the beginning of the concert she stepped into the crowd and actually latched onto my hand, MY HAND, for support, holding it securely for at least 30 seconds.

it was only a 20 dollar cab ride home.

and i lived to tell the tale.

the end.

nachos, talks of thanksgiving, and laundry

Sometimes there are those Saturdays that you have no desire to dress up, go out, and get belligerent. Sometimes it's just good to chill, spending a weekend without intoxication, and let the body get drunk on being in Baltimore.

Today I ran to the Inner Harbor. Let me repeat, I RAN TO THE INNER HARBOR! That is a 2.4 mile run through the city of Baltimore. It was glorious. It wasn't taxing. It was probably the best thing to do for my cold. I am now exhausted, but, I also feel pretty cleansed. The only downfall to this adventure is that there has been zero amount of homework accomplished through this day. But, homework is homework. The day was well worth it.

Fellow runners and I ventured from campus, lightly jogging through the city streets that I have yet to seen, like Cathedral Street, which was glorious, all brick sidewalks with matching brick buildings and mullioned windows. Then we hit the Harbor, where we ventured into the chaos of the 50% off sale of Urban Outfitters. It was all types of ridiculous, the people vying for a spot in line for a fitting room, tearing apart the racks with the ridiculously patterned, overpriced materials, just to be flung every which way, and then the 10 minute hiatus where the store closed to clean due to the chaos.

All in all a good time.

I bought a pair of neutral toned teal moccasins.

How ridiculous are prices these days? I've been so spoiled by Salvation Army, Goodwill, and the like, and now I am completely incapable to spend more than ten dollars for some clothing, because, inevitably, I will get art supplies on my clothing, and then be really upset. So, I only spend less than ten dollars because then I cannot be upset when I ruin said clothing.

Michelle wants to have sex with pumpkin pie.

it's official.

I'm sick. I'm actually sick, not the, ihavetoomuchofarunnynosetogotoclass sick, or the, ikindasortadon'tfeelwell sick. No, I'm sick. Last night I was fine in all parts of the definition, but then this morning I woke up and couldn't move! I had to call into work (the the second time this week) and then spent all of the day tossing around in my bed in the hopes that sleep will solve everything (like it normally does). Instead, I woke again to find myself in the same state. My throat is terribly sore. My head hurts so much it's tender to the touch, and my nose is so stuffed that it feels ready to explode. And I have the normal body aches.

Why would I be blogging about this? Well, this is the first time I'm sick and away from home. I don't have my parents to tell me to drink lots of fluids, keep up on the Advil intake, and get lots of rest just to wake up in tie for soup. No, I'm at college. I'm on my own. I have to take care of myself.

It's thrilling!

Really, this, to me, seems so wonderful. I mean, yes, I do want my mommy, but at the same time I want to be independent and do it all on my own. Yes! I can get up and make some tea! Yes! I did take my last Advil! Yes! I can run to the store for some soup and Ginger Ale!

My body is sick, but my mind, this time, is not. It's a strange limbo. I'm a firm believer that being sick is also fifty percent mental, if not more, so, hopefully, I can clear this thing up by Saturday afternoon.

Oh MICA, look at me go!

you should!

visit something really fancy.

http://digital.mica.edu/ff210%5F17/MBARRY/

let me just say...

... that my school is so much better than yours.

this could be considered another test.

things to do:

email this guy!

robert.sabuda@robertsabuda.com

this is a test

six hours

Sunsets are becoming something more profound lately, filling the sky with a certain delicateness affluent in romantic novels; soft expanses of lavenders and pinks and oranges blazing from a bright ball of gold. It is as if the world is saying, 'Thank you for reading patiently through the storm. Here's a little something for you.'

Actual shopping today was almost as worse as I had predicted. First, it was Saturday, it was one o'clock in the afternoon, and everyone, ever, was flocking to the Lancaster outlets for some 'quality' discounts, none of which included anything under $5 (which is the only shopping I prefer). Our first stop was Nike, where I watched a beautiful strawberry haired toddler with the biggest blues gawping wide with some exotic noises. She smiled when she noticed I began to join in.

Then we made our way to American Eagle. Admittedly, I like they're clothing, as long as the giant eagle or the wording AMERICAN EAGLE is not amply displayed across the garment. But, it really is hard to get over the fact that that store truly is the fifth circle of hell. First, why in god's name do they think it a good idea to blare, legitimately blast high octane dance music (including hits from Hot Chip and MIA) into a room brimming with high pitched voices and very tanned, very blond parents searching for they're fiftieth pair of acid-torn, overpriced jeans. It's an understatement for me to describe how incredibly nervous I suddenly became while in the store. I began shaking. And sweating. And, was totally unable to try on the six million pairs of jeans I decided would be a good idea to lug into the dressing room.

It was madness. I quickly picked the pair, gave them to my mother (who was paying for them, because, you know, she's awesome) and left the store to stand in the 98% humidity while trying to stop myself from shaking.

Eventually I learned the jeans I chose were $10.

Huzzahs abound for consumerism!

dusty

(the above is my micard photo, my mica identification)

Holy moley! I'm almost totally packed for school! And I still have six more days!

Who are you, new Mattbarry!? And why are you so awesome?

pricetags

I just conducted my first ebay bid. It was exciting. I am currently in so much antici-pation I could vomit. It was for five packs of sx-70 film for my shiny piece of polaroid goodness, the One Step Polaroid Land Camera, BC Series. It was $1.50, and included two flash packs.

These past few days I have been unable to get enough in my quest for polaroid perfection. Along with the One Step, I finally purchased a 600. It was only $1.oo!

The quest for polaroid perfection also included a romp into thrifty, antiquey, markety goodness, which included: vintage fabric, a checkered shirt, a broken clock, fresh pears, peaches, tomatoes, and green onions, the ugliest lamp, ever (it looks to be swindled from a gypsy camp), three old children's books (of the junior deluxe edition variety), a very colorful plaid coat (which will hopefully be utilized as fabric for a bag), four of the most wonderful, unbreakable glasses, a khaki pair of high tops, and four shot glasses with handles.

Also, in this extended time of shopping, was the purchase of three dvds and two cds, both Kings of Leon. One is Aha Shake Heartbreak, and the other, the earlier Youth and Young Manhood. Both were $7.99 at Kmart, of all places, and have provided my driving time with some much needed bass thumping. Also, I had never heard a song from Youth and Young Manhood, and have failed to be surprised at how good it is. I mean, how could it be bad, it's the Kings.

All in all, I think I spent less that $50.oo on the above purchases.

Why do I riddle off all of this nonsense, you may ask. Well, I only mention it because, first, it seems that I've accomplished much purchasing, but none of it is mandatory for college. That's 'muh bad', but, I have come to the conclusion that for the past many a year in my life I have not really went on a purchasing spree, and have feigned from spending money on more than gas and food. Now, I have realized that I do have money and maybe, just maybe, I don't need to put every sent of my paycheck into savings.

Secondly, tomorrow my mother wants to go shopping at the Tanger Outlets in Lancaster. I believe this to be a terrible idea, which is very difficult to express to my mother without her busting out in a rant on, 'just wanting to buy me nice clothes for school', which will end in goop like anger squelching from her facial orifices and making me feel like a smothered rag doll facing the fiery infernos of the bottom of the toy bin. Why is this a terrible idea, for my mother to spend a ridiculous sum of money on nice clothes for her college bound son? First, because I will be attending art school, with classes called Painting 1 and Drawing 1, conducted for six hours a day. Nice clothes will become ruined clothes. Second, I find that I cannot push myself to spend more than $5 on an article of clothing at Salvation Army. What makes her think I can go out and watch her drop $25 on a sweater, or the sale price of $49.99 on a pair of jeans? Legitimately, that is just obscene.

That isn't to say that I don't like or appreciate nice, new clothing. I do. I really do. Tearing that tag from a fresh christmas sweater, or new summer swim suit is like readying your car for a long car ride. Times are swell in new clothing, memories created and passed and kept and washed and re applied.

But, I can get that same feeling from Salvation Army clothing. They, too, have a tag, frustratingly stapled onto the clothing. Even so, it's basically the same.

Mhmm. Money. How everything totally revolves around you. I hate you. I love having you. Go die.

things i need for college

1. rugs. one for the kitchen, one for the bath, and one for the bed.

2. sink-side dish drainer.

3. the ultimate bartender's guide. for the kitchen.

4. an address book. preferably old. or handmade. or both.

5. bar set to compliment bartender's guide. including shot glasses.

6. polaroid film (for my shiny $1.50 polaroid and matching flash bulbs).

7. trash cans. one for the bed, one for the bath.

8. a neat lamp for the bed. maybe, also, a standing lamp.

9. a desk. probably not. all types of a maybe.

10. basic baking needs, such as and not limited to: brownie pans and cupcake trays and mixing bowls with matching utensils.

11. a toothbrush holder. i found the perfect one at the antique barn, but, when returned to purchase it, was unable to find it. now, the search is on.

12. film for the hawkeye.

13. a debit card.

14. kitchen towels.

15. jeans.

16. twin extra long sheets.

I do hope to god that that is the last of it. I feel like I have much too much to accomplish in the next ten days.

Wish me luck!

i love us

(500) Days of Summer was everything it needed to be.

The End.

the world at large

There are those days that are so explicitly better than others, even when considering the fact that nothing true was truly accomplished. With that said, it still is only two:thirty, and I still have much of the day to look forward to. Highlights of this wondrous monument to the final days of summer include:

1. Laundry, of course, because what day would be complete without laundry?

2. A walk through the park with my dog; a display of nature's muggy finest through the nature of the center of Hershey. The trees are tall, the foliage still full, thick, shadowing and cooling the path of heat dried dirt, dug up rocks, insects. Bailey, my dog, enjoyed every moment. And so did I.

3. Errands with Bailey; to fill my tank (which was impossible because gas is now two.fifty nine and I only had fifteen dollars in my wallet, to drop lunch for my mother (which included the most beautiful display of parallel parking (which really cheered my because it is always nice to know that one is still readily able to parallel park)), to the bank (which Bailey thoroughly enjoyed), and to pick up Super Baby Barry from soccer practice.

4. Taking pictures of Bailey throughout aforementioned errand running. This, let me say, was a terrible idea because driving and taking pictures is very dangerous to attempt to do simulatneously.

5. Listening to the Arcade Fire radio station provided by last.fm. That website is a thing of pure beauty. While listening, it showed an image collage of Owen Pallet, which I found uncanny because that is exactly how I pictured him to look. This brought me to google image him, which then led me to the strangest interview I have ever read. It was a long dialouge between him, Owen Pallet, and Ed Drost of Gizzly Bear. It caught me off guard, to say the least, as, while reading it, I realized the article was for Out magazine, the largest circulated gat magazine in the country, or something. Needlesstosay, the article talked about something I have always thought about: whether or not a musician likes and enjoys their own music. http://www.out.com/detail.asp?id=21164

I highly recommend reading it. Even in it's awkwardness, Owen holds some really great insights into himself as a musician, as well as the musician in general. It's curious, now, to think of how other musicians, artists, thinkers really think of themselves.

Is it terrible to say that I wish summer wouldn't end? I feel the need to live a bit longer, to accomplish just a bit more before going off to college, and now, with a mere three weeks left, I worry that said time isn't nearly long enough. Hopefully I'm merely thinking silly in some underlying fear of college. It isn't so much that I don't want to leave, because, in truth, I want to leave home in more ways than I could ever imagine. Therefore, I assume the fear must lie in something deeper, something more intangible; the idea of growing up, growing apart, moving on. I'm just not ready to uproot everything I know. With that said, I have come to understand that that necesarrily doesn't happen, but, in the regard, I have also come to witness that in small, inspecific ways it does really, inevitablely, occur.

For now, I just want to breathe deep and hold it, hold it all, for at least three weeks.

Then, I guess, after that time, I'll have to breathe out, breathe it all out; making room for something new.

boysleep

I sleep. I sleep a lot. On sunday I clocked thirteen consecutive hours with a three hour nap tacked on. Then today I woke up, another day at work, and then really thought I would accomplish something when I fell asleep on my hot, scratchy lawn; the sun coating my legs in sweat, my head with dull thoughts for a horrible half hour. This only led to a four hour nap of worthlessness.

I am not tired. I am not.

I don't really know what is what anymore.

Because I really have others things to do. Really.

the perfect number

sun, sun, sun

1. finish three more books. books of literary substance. books beyond my normal reading. wonderful, new books.
2. practice simple book binding techniques by making silly and simple illustrated stories. complete one a week for all of august.
3. delve into the history of tobacco. if it's going to be a vice, than know it for what it is. in said researching, learn to roll personal cigarettes. stop supplying the man.
4. start sketching. stop being stupid.
5. learn a song on the guitar. maybe jesus by brand new. or hey ya by outcast. or paperweight by joshua radin. or maps by yeah yeah yeah. or any song sung by the decemberists.
6. any other and all art work would be greatly appreciated.
7. go on an adventure, a final huzzah, if you will. something wonderful and unforgettable and full of costumes and pictures and dancing and laughter and the people i really, really love.

I have been meaning to write the above all summer. I do not know what I have been waiting for. I do not understand my procrastination. I do not want to have it as a primary burden any longer. I am too old and it is too ridiculous for me to think it appropriate any longer.

This summer may have been relaxing, but this past month is futile in its productivity. I am beginning to feel it all in the pit of my stomach, breathing life into the butterflies of college.

Maryland Institute College of Art, please, with every delectable sugar on top, do not be the death of me.

ode to mia michaels

I would do terrible, unspeakable things in order to be taught by Mia Michaels. I'm just saying.

art-tasty wonder

Recently my life has been so very much consumed by art, whether in thought or feeling or making of, and I cannot help but to bask in every bit of it. Between the glorious task of Insurance Agents turn Superheroes commission to the Philadelphia Museum of Art to attempting to learn how to knit (epic failure) to face painting and table-top painting and button bracelet making to decorations for the fast approaching Harry Potter and the Dance til Dawn celebration; my life is, entirely, gloriously brimming with all types of art-tasty wonder.

Such a delicious, nutritious meal for my everyday.

PHILADELPHIA MUSEUM OF ART! complete with following exhibits:
Shopping in Paris: French Fashion 1850 - 1925

'Common creatures, in other cities, dress to live; but in Paris people live to dress.'

-Charles Dickens

department store [di-pahrt-muhnt stohr] - noun: cathedral of modern commerce

A lightly lit room filled with a stage of simple mannequins impeccably dressed. The clothing, as pictured, was ornate, each piece a luster in that of hand spun creations that basked within the wardrobes of the wealthy. How profound, to think that each piece is mere fabric, draped, stitched, ornamented for singular purpose of making someone beautiful, rather than being beautiful itself. It's nice to see that the clothing finally receives the recognition it deserves, that of pieces of impeccable art.






Visual Delight: Ornament and Pattern in Modern and Contemporary Design

The exhibit featured household works from recent past to present, all of which explored the maker utilizing the mergence of function with that of ornamentation. It's primary objective was to relate to the viewer the structural change in our societies' desire from disregarding that of ornamentation, of beauty without design to be replaced with all that is sleek, functional and for purpose, into a society that desires both in one.

The above is a radiator, whose design not only is beautiful, but functions as a tool better in its primary object to heat in that its spaced figure distributes warmth in a more dispersed manner, allowing for a room to grow comfortable in a fashion timely-er than that of the average radiator.


That up there is a crocheted box. It's yarn. Really.
And then there was a room full of chairs. I thought it was quite silly.

Henri Matisse and Modern Art on the French Riviera

I have this thing where I don't really photograph two dimensional art. It's weird. I guess I just wasn't in that certain mood needed to do so. Needless to say, the exhibit was nothing quite fantastic. Baltimore's Walters Museum houses its own Matisse exhibit that far exceeds that which the PMoA is currently showing. Needless to say, I like France, and the French Riviera, and the astute family that waltzed through the exhibit with there thick French accents and smiling faces, dissecting each and every piece as if it were as familiar as a family photograph.

Hello! Fashion: Kansai Yamamoto, 1971–1973

I love color, and the small gallery located on the second floor house a unique display of cultural pieces I had not thought to expect, all of which were detailed in an extraordinary excellence or lack of color . The gallery was an open room with a perimeter of glass 'closets', each housing a mannequin and its piece. All in all, the total twenty or so pieces each displayed a certain style and sense of Japanese fashion I had never come to realize, such as: the Futen-Zuko (vagabond tribe) 0f 1967, who were closely definable to the American hippie; wabi-sabi - to find beauty in imperfection, impermanence and incompleteness.

illadelphia says, 'happy birfday america!'

After an hour and a half drive, which included learning how to utilize cruise control and realizing that driving through Philadelphia is comparable to navigating the seventh circle of hell, I spent a lovely two days in the birthplace of our nation. Weather smiled upon us as me, my younger brother, father, and Canadian cousins traipsed about the city, exploring the generically overcrowded historic sections, as well as the beautifully brimming South Street. Adventures that ensued included:

blatant picture taking of interesting people;
CANADIANS;
the modern tea party (what a shit way for Americans to celebrate America's birfday, really);
the best dressed American;
DARWIN!;
blatant picture taking of babies;
visiting my great-great-great-great grandfather;
taking pictures with said grandfather;
GRANDPA!;
much eye rolling at my uncle (he's swell, really, but talks in a way that is reminiscent to that cool kid slumped in the middle of the classroom, attempting a banter with a professor who could care less, but inevitably gives in with a smile in effort to recognize the students potential);
more blatant picture taking;
POODLE FIGHTS!;
BABIES!;
immersion into the vast array of Philadelphia's street art, including sidewalk chalk;
BROWNSTONES!;
telling my brother to jump off random buildings so I could photograph him doing so;
LOST!;
more jumping, but with my cousin involved. This picture is a great close-up;
SOUTH STREET!;
and all it has to offer;
UGLIEST BABY EVER!;
my uncle turned to me through the throng of people to state, in full accent, 'I really like this place - it has that, sorta, bohemian thing.' All I could do was laugh, and nod;
PANTS-LESS MANNEQUIN!;
early celebrators included much revelry outside a restaurant as we waited for a table; in said restaurant I was served alcohol neither carded nor met with disapproval by the parental and posse; blue moon is delicious; South St. also included RepoRecords (where the new, shiny Decemberist's record gleamed for a pricey $17.95 (which was rather unfortunate compared to the four dollars in my wallet)), experiencing the Gayborhood, sneaking cigarettes, until a total pass-out on the top floor of the Marriot Tower.

Then came time to venture out to Benjamin Franklin Parkway for the largest free concert celebration in the country, which included Harrisburg native Jeffrey Davies representing the 717, the Philly native Roots, and Sheryl Crow. There were people everywhere, everywhere!; a shoulder to shoulder expanse that began to smell as the music tumbled into the night and tempers rose to fist fights, and my favorite quote of the evening, 'FIRE DAT CRACKA!', shortly followed by, 'GET THAT BITCH OFF THE STAGE!'

I agreed. Sheryl was killing me, especially when she ventured into a Led Zepplin cover.

Most peculiar was the vast difference between the July 4th celebrations of Philadelphia in comparison to Washington D.C.'s: fireworks and orchestrated interludes are all very much the same, but the crowds are totally of their own worlds. In D.C. the setting in vast, all surrounded by iconic America, and in such setting, all sit, blankets, pillows and fold outs splashed in a sea of people all eagerly awaiting fireworks. Philadelphia, in the other spectrum, was a mass of people shoulder to shoulder, reeking in the foul mixture of cultural foods, smelly feet, and body odor, all the while people forcefully pushing against your still form so they can mash themselves further into the wall of people. The general camaraderie doesn't exist, and rather is replaced with a hostile environment evaporating after the 17 minutes of fireworks into a chaos of litter, yelling, and, what I assume, a gang battle outside of City Hall (it was the most peculiar thing; we were a block from the Marriot and all-a-sudden all the teenagers within the vicinity flocked to a point directly outside the building, and, moments later, all were fleeing. None knew what the reason was, and many were running opposite the location. Thankfully, we passed through and crossed to the next block just as cop cars began surrounding the building).

July 5th was filled with the Philadelphia Museum of Art, which housed many fantastic exhibits within its new building. After a few hours perusing the various exhibits (which included contemporary Japanese photography on gelatin silver prints, Shopping in Paris, an exhibit on modern furniture design, Hello! Fashion, and a full three rooms of Matisse and other French Impressionists from the South of France. All in all, a fantastic collection of work.

Then, a delicious meal of French Toasted filled with fig and cherry butter at the London Grill on Fairmount (next to the Penitentiary). The restaurant also had the strangest drink menu I have ever read. All the concoctions sounded surreally fantastic. I didn't try my luck twice, though.